


Only Your Touch

by acesandapricots



Series: Kinktober 2020 [16]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Aftercare, Blindfolds, Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gags, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensory Deprivation, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesandapricots/pseuds/acesandapricots
Summary: Julian is bound so he can only experience the sense of touch in their play. As an augment, every sensation is heightened.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Kinktober 2020 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958257
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	Only Your Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Kinktober 2020 challenge (prompt: sensory deprivation).
> 
> My everlasting thanks to [whitmans_kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitmans_kiss/) for beta reading!
> 
> Details of Garak's Cardassian anatomy taken from tinsnip's "[Speculative Cardassian Reproductive Xenobiology](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719479)."

Julian could feel the bead of sweat as it trailed down his bare torso, sliding along the curve of his ribs and down, down until it stopped, trapped in the curling hairs just below his navel. He could feel every millimeter where the soft rope rubbed against the thin skin of his wrists and ankles, the pinpricks of non-replicated silk scratching against his palms where he held on; the hot tension of his muscles as they fought to maintain their taut position. He could feel the stone floor braced hard against the soles of his feet. He could feel the fucking air, the feather-light breeze that wrapped around him, whispering against his bare arse and then twirling up and around to tickle his erect nipples. Goose pimples rose on his flesh, each one a delicious tingle of nerve endings alight.

He strained for any sensation beyond that of touch, his mind whirling. His eyes could only see a dark, velvety black; he could feel the plush material of the blindfold against the skin of his temples, the bulky knot where it crossed behind his head, flattening sweaty hair against his scalp. He could feel the edges molded to the curves of his face, firm but so smooth, not allowing any light to peek through. He could feel the delicate metal strands that dangled down against his neck from the soft earplugs, plush foam pushing against the walls of his ears, but he couldn’t hear more than the echo of his own heartbeat against his eardrums, loud and fast with anticipation.

He couldn’t taste the air, scent out who or what surrounded him. His tongue could only pick up the rubber of the ball shoved into his mouth, the hint of cold, sharp steel and warm leather pushing at the edges of his over-sensitive lips. Even his ability to smell was taken away, overwhelmed by the pungent dabs of a Betazoid oil; his olfactory world was colored in flavors of cinnamon and ginger. Julian could feel the scent traveling down his nose to tickle the back of his throat where it melded with the hard taste of the rubber gag.

Julian trembled, feeling _nothing_ and _everything_ , all at once. He tried - dammit, he _tried_ \- to tune out his heightened sensitivity most of the time. It was all easily too much - or would be, if the scientists hadn’t improved his cognitive processing abilities alongside his physical augmentation. But now _everything_ was coming in through touch, the nerves under his skin trying desperately to compensate for the lack of his other senses, and Julian was all too aware of just how sensitive, just how vulnerable, he now was.

He thought he caught a change in the air’s movements, like a breath hovering at the back of his neck, but just for a moment. Then the air stilled again, and Julian stood taut, denied, and waiting… just, waiting.

A sizzling line of flame erupted against his ass, hot, rough traces trailing up and down across his skin. It was too much, it was not enough; _fuck_ but it was just a _touch_ , just a _palm_ , just the feeling of microscales gliding across his own skin. Heat lingered while touch moved on… quickly, then slowly, then too quickly again, moving up towards the soft curve at the base of his spine and then down, over, around, cupping into the sensitive crease between cheek and thigh.

Then the sensation was gone.

Julian was panting, trembling, his hands grasping onto the silk rope, its fraying imperfections spiky against his palms. His skin felt hot all over, his ass a bed of coals. _Fuck_ , they should have done this years ago.

Minutes ticked by, Julian able to count by the heartbeats thudding in his ears. The cool air of the unseen room continued to wrap around him, brushing curls of ice against his asscheeks after the heat of touch.

A lightning strike hit one nipple, then the other. The edges of fingernails, he thought, scraping, pinching, outlining the puckering skin. Julian arched into the sensation, feeling the rush of blood and the tightening of skin, the crackling electricity piercing his chest. Then it, too, was gone.

He took only a few deep, shuddering breaths before his nipples were attacked again, this time with a scorching wetness, like flame and flood rolled into one. He could feel goose pimples ripple across his chest, the beading of moisture atop his pecs, and the slimy caress of drool sliding through the gap between his lip and the gag, his saliva tasting of nothing but rubber. Julian arched into the pleasure, into the pressure, imagining but not seeing the mouth sucking at his nipples, methodically alternating from one to the other, searing, moist heat of lips and tongue then the cool, dry kiss of air, then back again. Uneven circles danced over his areolas, drawn with a rasping, sticky pressure; sharp edges grazed around the hardened peaks, firecrackers dancing across the sensitive skin.

Julian’s knees buckled, and he let out a muffled cry as he felt the tip of his cock bump against something solid, hard muscle underneath a scratchy fabric. Once again, all sensation stopped, and Julian was left trembling, panting, _wanting_.

Minutes, hours, more - Julian lost track. A tickle here, a lick there, rough palms and smooth lips and wet tongue and _fuck_ that had to be a feather, what else could it be? He forgot what it was to see anything but black, what it was to hear anything but his own blood rushing through his veins and his own moans and whimpers echoing in his skull. He tasted only saliva and the infuriating gag; he couldn’t even smell his own arousal through the scented oil flooding his nose, though he knew he was dripping, could feel the drops of his own pre-come squeezing out the tip of his cock, beading along his slit. Every inch of his skin was electrified, nerves answering to the call of a masterful conductor. Julian was panting, trembling, sweating, whimpering, oversensitized and overwhelmed and still needing more.

And when it came it wasn’t slow, it wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t teasing. It was sudden lava, liquid hot and gripping his most sensitive skin in a vise. Julian cried out through his gag the nearly indiscernible word, “ _Elim!_ ” His yell echoed in his skull as his cock was enveloped in a delicious molten heat. Wet, and tight, and a pressure just on the underside, a slick tongue rubbing against sensitive skin _just there_.

Then movement, pressure, friction, the dance of air and tongue across and around his throbbing skin, the tease of the cool air drying sticky spit and slick right alongside the volcanic heat of an encasing mouth. A feather-light touch swiped across his slit; cool, scaly fingertips caressed his bollocks in tight, slow circles.

Julian felt lightheaded, electric, inhuman. Nothing existed except for the fire on his skin and the warm heat surrounding his cock. His world collapsed in on itself, his every sense pulled _in_ and _down_ , every augmented cell focused on the smallest touch. He was awake to the crackling air hovering around his body, to each individual bead of moisture pebbled on his skin, to each ridge and tooth caressing every centimeter of his cock with such mastery.

He felt his orgasm across every inch of skin, the pleasure and release ricocheting through every nerve. He saw a white light streaking bright across the blackness of his vision, and then he was gone.

**=/\=**

The light in the room was too bright when he came to, even though his fluttering eyelids. His skin was still tingling, though he felt comfortably cool and cleaned of sweat and cum. His arms ached, as did his legs, tender skin pinching at his wrists and ankles as they lay, unbound, against clean sheets. As he inhaled, he could still taste the scent of cinnamon in the air, but it was mixed with clean linen, a woody soap, and the indescribably alien and welcoming smell of his husband.

“Elim?”

“You’re awake, my dear.”

“Mmm. I’m awake.”

“Drink this.” Garak held a glass of clear liquid to Julian’s lips, and he slowly sipped at the crisp water, its coolness flooding in and hitting the back of his throat like ice. He forced himself to take smaller sips, swirling the water around his mouth until it warmed before swallowing it down. Thank goodness it wasn’t rokassa juice.

When the cup was empty, Garak gently lifted it away. Julian heard the soft _clink_ as the glass met the tabletop, heard the faintest scrape of metal and nails as Garak picked up something else. _Ah, yes, the dermal regenerator_.

“Are you ready, my dear?”

Julian could only nod slowly, his body limp. Garak carefully worked the tool over the raw, bruised skin at Julian’s ankles and wrists, over a particularly sore spot on his ass and another on his hip. Julian didn’t even flinch when Garak bent to wipe at his lip before passing the regenerator over the skin; his gray finger coming away with a streak of red.

Julian must have frowned at the sight, for Garak was quickly caressing his cheek, his bright blue eyes concerned and… ashamed?

“I’m afraid I fastened the gag a bit too tight.”

And Julian, lost though he was in the oceans of those knowing eyes, shook his head and murmured, “No, my love. It was perfect.”

The answering smile on Garak’s face filled Julian with such affection. It took all of his strength to lift his hand, reaching for his husband’s scaly cheeks. They rested there for a moment, hands and smiles mirrored and shining in each others’ clear eyes.

When they broke apart, Garak continued to tend to Julian’s small wounds and aching muscles, pausing now and again to feed him tasteless water and, eventually, a couple bites of sweet spice pudding. As Julian returned closer to full consciousness, he grabbed for his lover, pulling him close and curling into the cool feel of his skin. Garak didn’t pull away; instead, he reached around Julian, who could feel a soft, only slightly scratchy, fabric sliding to cover his bare skin. Cocooned in a blanket, nestled into his love’s embrace, his head resting on his husband’s chula, he murmured:

“Elim?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Thank you.”


End file.
